


Hungry

by GillianInOz



Series: An Honourable Endeavour [1]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:33:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillianInOz/pseuds/GillianInOz
Summary: Morse and Thursday living in a reality where a senior and junior officer legally form an intimate sexual partnership as a part of their career.For Thursday Morse caught his attention the moment he laid eyes on him, and the idea of Pairing with him was completely natural.For Morse Thursday is the first person to ever truly want him, to see more in him, to show him real tenderness.Pairing in their world has its place, but all too soon both Thursday and Morse find themselves drawn more deeply into this closeness than society would consider appropriate.





	Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate reality where Pairing between senior and junior officers is completely consensual and considered an honour for both parties. 
> 
> Warning for explicit sex, lashings of emotions, tenderness, and two of my favourite guys getting to express all the love we know they feel for one another. 
> 
> Don’t say you weren’t warned.
> 
> (I did post this some time ago - but I wanted to work on it some more, so this is technically a repost)

Thursday huffed on his pipe as Morse negotiated his way through the morning traffic. “So,” he began, keeping his tone even and light. “Would you think about staying on here, in Oxford?”

Morse tilted his head curiously. “Is that an option then?”

“Could be, could be,” Thursday said genially. “I think you have a bright future in the force, lad. And I admit, I’d like to be a part of that.”

“Sir?” Morse frowned. “I don’t understand. What part?”

“It’s my duty as a DI to encourage the young up and comers, Morse. And I like to think I’ve done that over the years. Brought on some likely lads. But I’ve never paired with a junior before.”

“Paired?” Morse repeated blankly. Then he blinked rapidly, a flush darkening his cheeks. “Paired?” he choked out. “Me? You want me? I’m not even a sergeant.”

“That’s not a prerequisite, and easily taken care of at any rate,” Thursday said, slanting him a glance. “You understand then, what being paired entails? Special duties?”

“Um, yes, I think so,” Morse said, keeping his eyes on the road. “There were a few pairings at Carshall Newtown. Um, they were very well respected. Good solve rate.”

“When it works it works a treat,” Thursday said confidently. “That give and take between a senior and his junior, that trust. Gets so they almost think each other’s thoughts, finish each other’s sentences. And it’s a way for a DI to bring on a likely lad, to guide him through the force, bestow on him the benefit of his experience.”

“And have sex with him,” Morse said bluntly.

“That’s part of it, yeah,” Thursday said, not missing a beat. “Would that be a problem for you?”

Morse’s cheeks were still flushed as he pulled the big car up to the kerb and let the engine idle as he gazed at Thursday. He tilted his head, those wide, luminous eyes looking at Thursday’s face as if he’d never really seen him before.

“You want me?” he said, a little disbelievingly. “Like that?”

“Very much,” Thursday said honestly.

Morse blinked at his bluntness.

“I’ll never lie to you, Morse,” Thursday promised. “Never use you. Never take from you anything you’re not willing to give. But I would be in charge, and I would guide you, give you orders, teach you everything I know.”

“And you can’t do that without a pairing? Without special duties?”

“I could,” Thursday conceded. “And I will, if that’s what you want. But I can’t protect you that way – not the way I could if there was a legal understanding between us.”

“Do I need protecting then?” Morse said, half smiling.

_Oh, lad,_ Thursday thought. _I never met a man needed it more. You’re a walking bruise, so beaten down by life it’s a wonder you can get out of bed of a morning, never mind swim through the shark infested waters of an average nick. This job, this life, it will crush you if it can, and I find I don’t want that to happen._

“Professionally?” Thursday said honestly. “Yes, you do. Will you think about it?”

“And if I say no? Will you still want me to stay here in Oxford?”

“Said so, didn’t I?” Thursday said gruffly.

“All right,” Morse said slowly.

“You’ll think about it?”

“No, I mean… All right. I accept your offer.”

Thursday pursed his lips. “It’s a big decision, Morse. Don’t you want to think about it for a while?”

Morse looked down at where his hands gripped the steering wheel. “If the offer’s on the table, sir, I would be honoured to accept it.”

“Honoured, eh?” Thursday chuckled. “Well, it’s an honourable tradition, that’s for sure. Serves in good stead in the military, education, the church. Certainly got me through some tough times in the service, being paired with my CO.”

“In the war?” Morse said, and Thursday hid a smile at the curiosity in the lad’s voice. “You were part of a pair?”

“Before I married Mrs Thursday,” Fred confirmed. “I intended to make the military my career, but I lost him to a sniper’s bullet. Lost my taste for it after that.”

Morse stayed silent, in that way he had. When he wasn’t sure if by speaking he would be over stepping the mark, crossing some line.

“It’s all right,” Thursday assured him. “We’re going to be paired, you have the right to ask me anything you like.”

“That’s quite a responsibility. I’m not sure I’ll find it so easy, answering any question you ask.”

“I said you could ask. We’re neither of us obligated to spill our guts on command. It takes time, to build trust,” Thursday said slowly. “Time and intimacy. It’s hard for a man in this world, Morse. We always have to be the strong ones, the fighters, the rock everyone else leans on. When you’re paired, when you have that bond…” Thursday wrinkled his brow, trying to put it into words. “When you have someone that close to you, to help you through the tough times, share the burden... Well. It can make all the difference. Did for me.”

“But, Mrs Thursday?” Morse asked. “I mean, isn’t… doesn’t a man marry to find that kind of confidante?”

Thursday cocked a brow. “And burden a wife and mother with the kind of thing we see? The filth a copper wades through every day, or a soldier for that matter? If a man’s lucky he has a wife and kiddies to come home to, a safe haven where he leaves his work at the door. And if he’s really lucky he’s half of a pair, and he always has someone to get drunk with, to fuck away the pain, to cry on his shoulder, if you like. Amazing what a few tears can help a man shed.”

Morse gazed at him, as if he were amazed at the confession from this tough as nails copper, and Thursday chuckled at his gob-smacked face.

“You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll see.”

Morse glanced in the mirror at the traffic, seeming frozen for a moment by his own gaze. Then, with a last quick glance at Thursday, he pulled onto the busy street. 

888

“So, done all your study?” Thursday said, taking the first sip of his lunchtime pint.

Morse nodded, producing the small handbook from his pocket. “There’s a lot more to it than I knew,” he admitted. “But I have to admit, I like the sound of it.”

“Told you,” Thursday nodded. “When it works, it works a treat.”

“And when it doesn’t?”

Thursday shrugged. “One or the other pulls the plug. Transfers out, maybe even leaves the force. Usually they know pretty early in the piece though. Whether it will work.”

“I was thinking about what you said.” Morse sipped his own pint. 

“Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

“I can see what I get out of all this.” He held the handbook up and shook it. “But for the mentor, the governor. What’s in it for him?” A pink flush mantled his thin cheeks as Thursday cocked a brow wickedly. “I don’t imagine a man signs so much of his time and effort away for a quick shag now and then,” Morse said tartly.

“You’d be surprised,” Thursday joked. 

“Sir,” Morse said primly. “I’m serious.”

“All right, Morse,” Thursday said, patting his leg. “Thought I’d explained. Look at this latest case, this evil sod, butchering people as if it were some sick game.”

Morse frowned, and Thursday figured he was remembering how close he’d come to losing his governor before he’d even signed up for special duties.

“Who else but another copper could understand that? How do you take that home to your wife and talk about it over mashed spuds and cabbage? But coppers who don’t talk about it, or can’t, or won’t… They’re the ones who end up crawling inside a bottle, or striking out with their fists. Or just get so bitter and twisted they can’t do the job they’re meant to.”

“And you think I can help you with that?” Morse said doubtfully.

Thursday paused, glass at his lips. “You already have. You being here, a part of my life, within arms reach. It’s already made a difference to me, lad. And when we’re all legal – well – there’ll be an even greater closeness there. I’m looking forward to it.” He laid his glass down on the scarred table. “Or is it that closeness that worries you?” he asked intuitively.

Morse’s cheeks pinkened a little and he suddenly became very interested in the contents of his glass. 

“Well, I must admit… doing it… in the office,” he said, tugging at his collar as if it were suddenly too tight. “The first time, over your desk…” He trailed off and drained his pint to the dregs.

“That’s the custom,” Thursday said genially. “And it’s a good one. Makes the whole thing legal right off the bat, and is quite enjoyable, if done right.”

Morse looked at him a bit sceptically, and then just rolled his eyes when Thursday dropped him a wink.

“That wasn’t actually what I was worried about,” Morse said, fiddling with his tattered beer coaster now, flicking his thumbnail on the sodden cardboard. Thursday waited him out, already recognising how difficult it was for Morse to express any thought not directly related to work.

“I’m just worried that I’ll let you down,” Morse finally confessed. “That you’ll be counting on me for something I can’t give you. I’ve never been very good at…”

“At?” Thursday prompted.

“People. Relationships. You know.”

Thursday nodded. “Well,” he said thoughtfully. “Reckon that’s just one more thing I have to teach you.”

888

Constable Strange waited until DI Thursday and DC Morse had signed their names before adding his own signature on the line indicated.

“Congratulations, sir!” he said jovially, thrusting out his hand to Thursday and pumping enthusiastically. He shook Morse’s hand next, then thumped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, matey. You’ve sure won the prize here. Been a lot of chaps hoping to catch Detective Inspector Thursday’s eye over the years.”

“Very good, Strange,” Thursday said, lifting a brow, and Strange suppressed his big grin with an effort. 

“Yes, sir,” he said. 

“Thank you for witnessing,” Morse said awkwardly. 

“My pleasure. And don’t worry, I’ll keep mum till the whole thing goes through and it’s announced.”

“I should hope so,” Thursday said. “About your business now, Constable.”

“Sir.” Strange turned smartly, but still managed to catch Morse’s eye and drop him a saucy wink before he disappeared from the office. Thursday pretended not to have seen.

“Lord,” Morse said. “Jakes will have a field day.”

“He’ll mind his manners or I’ll want to know why,” Thursday said, folding up the forms and slipping them into the big yellow envelope. “Mostly you’ll just get a few jealous stares anyway. A pairing’s a surefire path to promotion, and they all know it.”

“They’ll think that’s why I did it,” Morse said gloomily.

“D’you care what they think?”

Morse frowned, then shrugged. “I suppose not. No one ever really likes me anyway.” His frown deepened. “I’m not sure why. I just have a knack for rubbing people up the wrong way, I think.”

Thursday chuckled. “You? Never.”

Morse smiled and shrugged. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Time might come when you regret tying yourself to an awkward sod like me.”

Thursday slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket and patted it. “You let me worry about that.” 

888

“My office, Morse,” Thursday said as he walked through the outer office, his hat in his hand, his coat already draped over one arm.

Morse gathered together his case notes and followed his governor into the office.

“I’ve finished writing up the final notes,” he said, thumbing through the forms in his hand. There was a smudge of ink on one finger, and his tie was loose around his throat. Thursday watched as the lad frowned down at his work. “I still think there’s something I missed in the study,” he fretted. “Something tying Ledbetter and his wife to the robbery.”

“Let it go,” Thursday said gruffly, hanging his hat and coat on the stand. He pulled a yellow envelope from his jacket pocket and sat down behind his desk. “The case is over and the Ledbetters are dead. Well beyond the reach of our justice.”

“I know,” Morse admitted. “I just…”

“Like to dot all the i’s and cross the t’s,” Thursday said fondly. “That’s not what I called you in about anyway.” He laid the envelope on his blotter, straightening it so that it sat four square with the corners of the ancient old leather. “It’s come, Morse.”

Morse looked up from his papers, a small frown still between his brows.  
“What has, sir?” Then he stilled, his eyes widening impossibly, forget-me-not blue. “Sir?” he whispered.

“Lock the door, Morse,” Thursday said gently.

“But,” Morse blinked, looked down at the papers now crumpled in his fist. “Now?”

“Now. Might as well get this first time over and done, make it completely official.”

“Sir.” Morse stumbled to the wooden door, pulling the blind down before turning the key in the lock. The sound seemed loud in the hushed room and Morse twitched, a flush of red already creeping up the skin of his neck.

Yes, lad, Thursday thought. They’ll have heard that, out there. Word will have got around, and they’ll know what’s up in here, or what soon will be. He smiled as Morse just stood by the door, head down, forgotten papers now hopelessly crumpled. But they know better than to comment on the doings of a pairing, or they’ll feel the back of my hand otherwise.

“Over here, lad,” Thursday said kindly. Above all he had to show his authority and his confidence here, for this first time. It would set the scene for the future, for both their futures. Morse was his now, as long as he stayed in the job and Thursday wanted him – and that was going to be as long as could decently keep him.

Morse stepped towards the desk, not hesitantly, but cautiously. Lack of trust in Thursday? Lack of faith in his new role?

No, just nervous, Thursday decided. Fair enough. 

“Am I right in thinking this is your first time?”

“With a man?” Morse clarified. “Yes, sir.”

Those wide eyes were fixed on his, all the fear and trepidation clear within their depth. But there was a longing too, Thursday saw. A curiosity. A desire.

“Take off your trousers, lad,” Thursday murmured, and Morse’s eyes widened impossibly, that flush across his cheeks a warm, delicious pink.

Eyes dropping, Morse’s trembling fingers fell to their task, belt unbuckled, button undone, the gentle rasp of a fly zipper being lowered. Weighted by his belt and wallet, the trousers fell and Morse’s hands found the waistband of his light blue shorts. He looked up, just once, at Thursday. Looking for a last minute reprieve perhaps? Ensuring that he was obeying his orders correctly? Or just in need of reassurance?

Thursday gave it, smiling and standing himself now as Morse dropped the draws around his ankles and stepped out of them, toeing off his shoes in one easy move.

“Good lad,” Thursday said easily. “Now, bend over.”

Morse turned and stretched over the desk, hands gripping the sides, his cheek resting inches from the envelope that had sealed his fate.

Thursday felt that rush of blood to his groin at the sight of his lad bending over his desk, arse teasingly displayed beneath the long tails of his shirt. He’d been dreaming about this from the moment he’d decided to make Morse his protégé, to bring him on and guide his career. This subservient pose, this trust, this offering of total control to his governor, so necessary if their relationship was to work.

“Good lad,” he said again, reaching out and laying hands on Morse’s waist for the first time. The young man jumped, but didn’t shy away, just sighing a little as Thursday’s big hands slid up his waist, pushing the tails of the shirt up and away as he stroked up, and then right down to the lean strength of Morse’s thighs.

“So smooth,” Thursday murmured. “Such a smooth, pretty arse, Morse.”  
Morse turned his head a little fretfully, pressing his forehead against the blotter now, as his governor’s hands smoothed back around, over the globes of his arse, squeezing gently, separating the halves. 

“Oh,” Morse said, as two big thumbs split his crease, and Thursday teasingly blew a cool stream of air across the virgin pucker, which winked and twitched under his gaze. 

“Beautiful,” Thursday breathed. “But small and tight. I’ll not hurt you, lad, not now or ever,” he promised, letting go his prize long enough to pull a jar from his pocket and unscrew the lid.

The ointment was smooth and thick, and Thursday carefully stroked a measure across the tiny hole, drawing another wordless murmur from his bagman. 

“Just one finger to start, lad,” Thursday said reassuringly, then carefully pressed his index finger in to the knuckle joint. “There, that’s easy, isn’t it?” he crooned, pulling it out a little and then pushing home again, this time until the length of his finger was swallowed. He rocked it in and out a few times, smoothing his free hand over the impossibly soft skin of Morse’s bum, around his hip, the back of his knuckles brushing the lad’s cock. It was half hard only, not unexpected. 

“Early days yet,” Thursday whispered. “Two fingers now, mebbe a bit of a sting.” 

And he dabbed on a bit more cream before pushing two big fingers into Morse’s hole, first to the knuckle, then rocking back out and in up to the hilt.

Morse murmured and stirred, and Thursday stroked his back with his free hand, up under the soft, cheap shirt, sliding it up his torso even as he fucked his fingers in and out of his hole. He scissored them a little, opening up the lad carefully, watching as the tender skin stretched and strained, and finally accepted him.

“Now three fingers, Morse,” Thursday said. “And then it’ll be my cock, eh? You ready?”

“Yes, yes, sir,” Morse stuttered, his voice thick. “It, it stings a little, like you said.”

“It’ll sting a little more, at first,” Thursday said gently. “But then it will feel good, so good. You won’t believe it, lad.”

Morse squirmed again under the three fingers, but he took them gamely, shoulders pressing down now, arse tilted higher, legs spreading of their own accord.

“Knew you were a fast learner,” Thursday crooned thickly , petting over the curve of Morse’s waist with his free hand. “Good lad, clever lad.”

And it wasn’t his imagination that Morse gasped with pleasure at that praise, softening under his governor’s hands with another wordless murmur.  
Thursday filed that away for future reference, pulling his greasy fingers free and patting the lad’s flushed arse cheek. “Ready, Morse?”

And now Morse tensed again, just a little, as both hands left him and he was alone on the desk, open and pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Exposed, naked and vulnerable.

Thursday didn’t leave him hanging for long, within moments his hard cock was out, and he stroked it a few times, his free hand returning to Morse’s side, reassuringly patting the flushed cheek. On impulse Fred bent, letting his leaking cockhead stroke Morse’s bottom as he leaned over the lad’s back, laying a gentle kiss on his tousled head.

“You’re all right, Morse,” he murmured, then he grasped his cock and pushed it against that small, fluttering pucker.

“Oh,” Morse breathed. “Oh!” A little higher as Thursday’s cock opened him, split him, pushed and pushed and pushed until his governor’s belly was pressed to Morse’s backside, and his governor’s work-worn hands were cradling his torso. “That feels…”

“Like heaven,” Thursday groaned, and then he was beyond words as he pulled out a little, and fucked back in. 

“Uh,” Morse said, head dropping again, but he was lifting up on his toes as Fred thrust and thrust, instinctively seeking something, and Thursday tilted his own hips back and adjusted his strokes, in and out, pressing here, pushing there – until at last…

“Ahhhhh,” Morse moaned, and the hunger, the need, the sheer pleasure fired Thursday beyond anything. Now his instincts took over, and he gripped lean hips hard and fucked his young man, finding that sweet spot on every stroke. Thursday considerately wrapped one hand over Morse’s mouth to muffle his low keening, keeping private the pleasured cries. His other hand finally reached around, found Morse’s cock, rock hard, wet, jerking with every stroke.

“Come for me, boy,” Thursday panted, tightening his grip, letting Morse fuck the tunnel of his big hand. “By god you come for me, right now.”

Because fucked if Fred Thursday wasn’t going to get his lad off before he popped his own cork, fucked if Morse’s first time wasn’t going to be a memory that he carried in his heart with a smile on his lips far into the future, when one day he mounted his own bagman, god willing.

Morse bit at the hard hand muffling his cries, and then spasmed beneath Fred’s thrusts, once, twice, three times, moaning deep from his chest as his cock spurted and he came, endlessly.

“Thank Christ,” Thursday blasphemed through his teeth, quickening his own thrusts until he felt the wave of pleasure break over him, crashing through him, leaving his knees weak, his breath sawing in and out.

Fred only realised he was draped over Morse’s back when the young man shifted restlessly underneath him, and he swore under his breath and straightened on shaky legs.

“Sorry, lad,” he muttered, his heart still hammering in his chest. 

“Uh, um, it’s all right,” Morse said, straightening with a small groan, hand automatically going to his backside, then flushing and falling away. He looked down, cheeks red, but Thursday was having none of it, he took the pointed chin in his hand and met that wide, blue gaze.

“All right, lad?” He said, knowing the answer, but wanting Morse to know it too.

True to form the young man thought about it for a moment, and there it was, flitting across that expressive face. Was he all right? Legs, shaky. Cock, a wet mess. Arse… Morse winced a little.

“All right?” Thursday asked again.

“Yes, sir,” Morse said shyly. “You?”

Thursday could sooner have flown to the moon than stopped his next move, which was to lean down and lay a soft kiss on Morse’s sweet, expressive mouth.

“Oh,” Morse said, something readjusting itself behind those wide open eyes. He smiled back tentatively, and Thursday reluctantly let him go and took a step away. Morse busied himself for a moment by pulling on his shorts and trousers, before sinking onto the wooden chair, a shoe in each hand.

He winced as he sat, and Thursday smiled and tucked himself away, not minding the slight stickiness for a moment. He’d slip into the loo and give himself a wipe down in a few minutes.

“Sir?” Morse said, head down and giving his laces an inordinate amount of attention as he tied them into bows. “Was it.. Was I… was it all right?”

Thursday considered and discarded a dozen quips and comments, his own agile mind reading the pose. Nervous, shy, satisfied. Unsure.

“It was perfect,” he finally said, honestly. Morse’s wide gaze darted up and held his own, and Fred smiled happily. “You were perfect,” he said.

Morse ducked his head and shrugged. But the praise put a bit more natural colour in his cheeks, as those red flags faded to pink.

Thursday stepped closer, carefully taking Morse’s chin in his hand and tilting his flushed face. “How was it for you?”

Morse shrugged again and smiled a little. “Good,” he said. “It was good.”

Thursday gave in to the temptation for one more small kiss, this time on Morse’s cheek, by his right ear. “You’re all right, Morse,” he murmured.

Morse’s hand came up and held his forearm as he leaned into the light caress, and Thursday’s heart gave a slight lurch. Right now he’d give a lot to be able to cuddle and cosset the lad until he settled down. Maybe let him snooze for a few minutes in his governor’s arms. 

But it was too soon for that, this more perfunctory initiation was the custom, and the intimacy would come naturally, with time. Or not. Thursday had a good feeling about the whole thing, not just the warm hum of complete sexual satisfaction thrumming through him. This was going to work, this pairing between him and Morse. He just knew it.

888

They caught a case an hour later, and the rest of the day was eaten up with interviews and a trip to the hospital to talk to DeBryn. Thursday watched Morse closely, but as expected the lad was quickly absorbed in the puzzle, diligently making notes and frowning down at them, as if already trying to make his connections between the disparate facts.

By evening they’d exhausted the possibilities for the day, and Fred climbed behind the wheel wearily. “Home, I think,” he said, looking forward to his tea. “You’ll come for dinner, Morse.”

Morse jerked in surprise. “Sir?”

“Mrs Thursday’s been on at me to invite you. Tonight’s as good a time as any.”

“But, sir,” Morse stammered. 

“Don’t worry, she always cooks a feast, there’ll be enough for you. Steak and kidney pud tonight, she said this morning. She knows I love her steak and kidney, and she says cooking it once a week is her cunning plan to make sure I sit down and eat with the family now and then.” Thursday pointed the car towards home and drove through the evening traffic, a smile of anticipation on his lips. “She’s only half joking.”

“Oh, but, sir,” Morse said. “Does she? About us, our pairing? Does she know?”

“Didn’t know myself for sure until this morning,” Thursday reminded him. “Maybe I should have said something after we’d signed the forms, but I wanted to be sure it would take.”

Morse tapped his fingers on his knees and Thursday slanted him a wry glance. 

“Out with it, Morse. I know when you have something to say.”

“I have quite a bit to say,” Morse said forcefully. “She’s your wife, sir. And right now, even sitting in your nice, comfortable front seat, I can still feel where you fucked me this morning.”

“I should hope so,” Thursday said drolly.

“Sir,” Morse said between gritted teeth. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. If your virgin arse wasn’t still stinging a few hours later I’d have to have done something wrong.”

“Not so virgin now,” Morse muttered.

“No you are not,” Thursday said smugly. Morse stared at him for a moment in outrage, and Thursday dropped him a wink every bit as saucy as Constable Strange could manage. Morse’s outrage vanished as he snorted a laugh and he turned his head to look out the window, one hand lifting to his lips as if to hide that helpless chuckle.

“You’re all right, Morse,” Thursday said. “Win will understand. Suppose she’s been expecting me to take on a pairing for years now. We’ve talked on it now and then, and she knew I was waiting for someone special.”

Morse shook his head, still looking out the window. “I’m no one special,” he said in exasperation. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. Here, you’re not really worried about sitting at table with my good lady wife, are you?”

“After being soundly rogered by you this morning?” Morse said incredulously. “A little.”

“Oh.” Thursday mused on it. “Since that’s going to be a regular occurrence, as, I hope, is dinner with my family, well.” He shrugged, settling it in his mind. “Might as well get this first time over and done with now. What else was on your mind?”

“What?” Morse asked helplessly.

“You said,” Thursday reminded him. “You had quite a bit to say.”

“I don’t remember,” Morse snapped, folding his arms. 

“Well, when you do, feel free to speak up.”

Morse sat in silence for a few minutes, as Thursday drove the familiar streets to home. “What do you mean by regular?”

“Regular. As in, whenever one of us needs it.”

“When you need it, you mean.”

“I know what I mean, Morse.” Thursday said. “Any time you want me to bend you over the desk, you say the word. Or against the filing cabinet, if the mood takes you.”

Morse shook his head. “Sir?”

“Or with me sitting in my chair, and you in my lap,” Thursday mused.

“Sir!” Morse sat up straight, arms unfolding as if they’d lost their strength. “In your chair?”

Thursday pulled up outside his home. “Or you on your back on the desk, come to that.”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Morse glared, his face flushed red.

“Took your mind off your bum though, didn’t it?”

“In the chair?” Morse was muttering as Thursday pushed open the car door and climbed out.

888

Win put his cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of Fred, and sat down next to him on the settee with a sigh. It was late and the kids were in bed. The radio played softly in the background and Fred was looking forward to getting his head down.

“So, Morse,” Win said, slanting him a glance as she sipped her brew. “A pairing, is it?”

Fred blew on his tea and swallowed, feeling a pang of guilt. He really should have told Win before the whole thing was settled, certainly before sealing the deal with young Morse that morning over his desk.

His cock twitched at the memory of that lean, pale back, those firm globes, the warm, tight hold of Morse’s body. The soft, needy sounds the lad made as he was fucked for the first time.

“Sorry, love,” he said ruefully. “Wanted to have all my ducks in a row before I told you. To be honest I wasn’t sure Morse wouldn’t back out the first time I laid hands on him. And he’s still a bit twitchy about the job.”

“Probably has cause to be,” Win said staunchly. “Poor beggar looks like he’s had his legs kicked out from underneath him too many times in his life.”

“It’s those eyes,” Fred said gruffly. “Talk about windows to the soul! Every thought he has passes across them, yet he’s silent as the grave when it comes to what he’s really feeling.”

“Thought’s easy, I suppose,” Win mused. “If he’s as smart as you say. But feelings involve trust – and I’d say any wild creature in the woods has more trust of strangers than that lad.”

“He’s smart all right,” Fred mused. “Oxford’s a city full of men with doctorates and degrees you could paper the loo walls with – but that lad has the kind of brain you see maybe once in your life. Connections,” Fred went on, setting his cup back onto its saucer with a clink. “He makes connections when most of us are still sorting through the clues. If we even see the same clues he does.”

“A good skill for a detective surely?”

“If he was Sherlock Holmes and answered only to himself,” Fred said ruefully. “But he’s little skill with people that I can see, and even less with authority figures. All the brains in the world won’t help him when it comes to the politics and the patter it takes to be a copper. At least one that wants to rise through the ranks.”

“You’ll see him right, love,” Win said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You’ll be his buffer while he finds his feet and learns what he needs to know.” Win rubbed her cheek on her husband’s strong, broad shoulder. “So, I gather you’ve had him?”

Thursday couldn’t help the low, pleased laugh of satisfaction. “I have,” he confirmed.

Win lifted her head. “Well?” She demanded. “Do I need to get out the bright lights and rubber hoses? How was it? How was he?”

“It’s a bit early to tell,” Fred defended. “It was his first time, and maybe we were both a bit nervous. But…” he mulled on his words, wanting to get them right. “He melted under my hands, Win. Like just that touch was enough to unlock something in him.” He shrugged. “Not sure I can explain it.”

“He’s hungry,” Win said wisely. “I could see it in his eyes the minute he looked at me. Not just for home cooking either.”

“Hungry,” Fred repeated thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s it. Starved more like. For touch, for gentleness.”

“Then you be gentle, Fred Thursday,” Win said sternly. “You give that boy what he needs, and not just a step up at work either.”

Fred kissed her soft cheek, love moving him through him in a great wave.   
“You don’t mind, do you, love?” He whispered softly.

Win shook her head, a knowing smile playing about her lips. “I knew what the job entailed when you were promoted,” she said, that steady love and loyalty in her eyes that always kept Fred going. That had carried him through all the rough times, that he still relied on every single day.

He felt something loosen in his chest.

“Then when all this time passed and you didn’t take anyone in a pairing – well, I started to think it wouldn’t ever happen. Til you mentioned Morse for the first time. Then I figured the waiting was over.”

“No secrets in this house,” Fred mock grumbled.

“I can’t say the thought didn’t worry me a bit at first,” Win continued thoughtfully. “The way you do about the unknown. But meeting that boy – well. He needs you, Fred, that’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

Fred nodded.

“But you need him too, I think.” Win tilted her head thoughtfully. “There’s a light comes on in your face when you talk about him, when you look at him. I think I’ll rest easier with him on your side and at your back.”

“Here,” Fred protested, a little ruefully. “He’s my junior, I’m the one to bring him on, protect him until he can stand a bit more firmly on his own two feet. I don’t need anyone at my back.” 

Win chuckled and stood, smoothing the apron down over her trim waist.

“Course you don’t, love,” she said fondly, dropping a kiss on his head.

Fred harrumphed and chewed on his pipe stem, but he wasn’t really irritated. He trusted Win, she had a clear vision when it came to people. Pairing with Morse was a pleasure, and a comfort, but Fred didn’t think he needed him, as such. 

But if Win saw something there, well, maybe there was something to see. He’d think on it for a while. 

888

“Now onto other matters,” Bright said crisply, sliding the last folder over and opening it. “Your special duty lad, Morse.”

“Sir?”

“I can’t say I was entirely happy with the way you rushed him into a pairing before he’d even sat his sergeants exams,” Bright said in his forthright way.

“No, sir,” Thursday acknowledged.

“Thought he was getting too favourable a run, expected better from a senior officer such as yourself than being gulled by a pair of big blue eyes.”

“Not just the blue eyes, sir,” Thursday said jovially. He knew how to deal with officers, he’d been doing it enough years.

Bright surveyed him over the top of his spectacles. “Quite,” he said dryly. “Nevertheless, it seems your instincts were sound after all.” Bright extracted a piece of paper and handed it across the width of the desk to Thursday. “Broke Oxfordshire records, apparently,” he said, only a touch of sourness to his voice.

Thursday perused the page, taking in the score and the scribbled notations of the examiners. He suppressed the wide grin that wanted to break across his face. His lad, top of the heap. Well, of course he was.

“Taken with his scores on the range, your protégé has turned into quite a ‘hot property’,” Bright said, practically telegraphing his disapproval of the slang even as he repeated it. “Quite a few sharp words being bandied around Division that his potential seems to have slipped through the cracks, as it were.”

Thursday’s bursting pride rapidly cooled as the meaning of his superior officer’s word penetrated.

“Sir?” he said cautiously. 

“I’ve had a few queries as to how you were even allowed to sign him up for a pairing before he’d sat his examination.”

“I checked the rules,” Thursday said evenly. “Phoned the Chief Constable myself. Everything is above board.”

“Yes, yes,” Bright brushed aside. “No one’s questioning that.”

“With all due respect, sir, it sounds as if that’s just what they are doing.”

“Sour grapes, Thursday, that’s all. I’ve done my own checking, your pairing is completely sound.”

Checking on my behalf, Thursday wondered, or someone else’s?

“It has been suggested to me that the boy might be ‘fast tracked’ as it were. Transferred to London. To the Yard itself.”

Now Thursday’s blood ran cold, and he kept the even expression on his face through sheer force of will. “I’m sure he might,” he said coolly. “At some point in his career. But I’ve relocated my family once, I’m not about to do so again. We’re settled in Oxford now.”

And Morse is settled with me, he thought, but didn’t say. Didn’t have to say. Bright knew and so did he that Morse couldn’t be separated from their pairing unless he personally requested it, or if the other side of the pairing signed off on it himself. And it would be a cold day in Hell before that happened.

Bright looked at him for a long minute, Thursday stared back in silence.  
And then, unexpectedly, a small quirk creased the corner of Bright’s mouth. On another man it might have been labeled a smile, or half a one at any rate.

“Very good,” Bright said amiably, closing the file and laying it fastidiously atop the pile of problems and issues dealt with. “That’ll be all, Thursday.”

Thursday stood up, Morse’s results still in his hands. “Thank you, sir.”

Bright nodded, then, as Thursday’s hand touched the doorknob. “Oh, and Thursday. Pass my congratulations on to Detective Sergeant Morse, will you? I’m happy to have him ‘on the team’.”

“Sir.”

888

Thursday slammed into his office and threw himself into his chair, then leapt up like a jack-in-the-box and stalked back out, grabbing his hat and coat back off the pegs where they were still swaying gently.

“Morse, with me,” he said shortly, striding out and trusting his bagman would follow. Within moments Morse was at his heels, shrugging into his jacket and automatically patting his pocket, checking on his wallet and warrant card.  
Thursday slammed into his car and was pulling away from the kerb almost before Morse had shut his door behind him.

“Where are we going?” 

“The pub,” Thursday said shortly. “I need a drink.”

888

Morse fetched the pints, laying them and his governor’s change on the table before slipping into the seat opposite. Thursday slouched back into his booth, lifting the pint and draining two thirds of it with one gulp. Morse tentatively took a sip of his own brew.

“Another?” he said.

Thursday breathed out and put the glass down on the scarred old tabletop with a scowl. “Hold your horses, I’ve barely touched this one.”

Morse raised one brow and took another gulp of his beer. “Did I… Did I do something wrong?” he said quietly. “Am I in trouble?”

Thursday looked into the wide blue eyes gazing at him resignedly, and felt the last of his temper slip away. One of the reasons he strictly left his cases at the door of his home was because a copper could so easily take his moods out on the people he was close to. He had sworn a long time ago that he’d never be that kind of copper. That kind of man.

“No, Morse,” he said hoarsely. “You’re all right.”

Those big blue eyes darkened a shade and Morse shivered, dipping his head and taking refuge in his beer. Thursday felt his spirits lift. He knew that dark blue shade, knew that little shiver. It had become his habit, after he’d mounted Morse, to stroke the lad down and settle him with a few light kisses, and to murmur in one blushing ear. _‘You’re all right, Morse.’_

And his lad, it seemed, had as good a memory for one kind of training as another.

“Actually,” Thursday said, his mood brightening. “Actually it’s good news. You’ve passed your exams, with flying colours it seems. Congratulations, Detective Sergeant Morse.”

“Oh,” Morse breathed. “I wasn’t expecting the results until Friday. That… that is good.”

“Good, he says,” Thursday mocked. “You broke the record with your score, lad. So yeah, I’d say it’s pretty ‘good’.” He smiled and touched the thin wrist protruding from Morse’s worn cuff. “I’m proud of you,” he said simply.

Morse’s face lit up and he straightened his shoulders, his slow, shy smile blossoming. “Thank you, sir. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“Nonsense,” Thursday dismissed. “You’ve never needed my help with the brainwork.”

“But I do with my focus,” Morse said. “I tend to let my attention wander if it’s not something I find… interesting.”

He trailed off as he realised he’d just admitted he’d found the rules and regulations needed to pass his examinations as dry as dishwater.

Thursday laughed out loud and took another gulp from his diminished glass. “Are you implying the laws and by-codes of our fair realm aren’t enough to rivet the interest of an academic like yourself?”

Morse shrugged and smiled into his glass. “Perhaps not all of them,” he admitted. “But, sir?” he said, straightening in his seat once more. “If it’s good news, why were you in such a temper when we got here?”

“Oh, that,” Thursday said, making a sour face. “Well, I suppose you should hear it from me, no doubt there’ll be gossip spreading like wildfire back at the nick. Nothing for gossip like a bunch of coppers, washerwomen over the back fence have nothing on them.”

Thursday twisted his beer in its circle of condensation, already whitening the dark, aged polish of the pub table. “It seems a few knobs up in Division are kicking themselves that they didn’t see your shining potential before I did, see? They think you belong in the hallowed halls of the Yard. That’s Scotland Yard to you, Morse,” Thursday said to Morse’s astonished gaze.

“Scotland Yard,” Morse repeated in awe, and why not? Wasn’t that the goal of every ambitious young chap? The Holy Grail to a young copper on the ‘fast track’ as Bright had called it. Thursday watched the glow of interest spark in Morse’s expressive eyes and for the first time felt a pang of uncertainty. Didn’t the lad realise what he meant? Didn’t he understand that a transfer to the Yard was a transfer away from Oxford and his governor? The governor he’d signed his career and body to just a few weeks before?

Well, but. Things had only just begun between them, he and Morse. Thursday had hardly had a chance to do more so far than shield his protégé from Bright’s zealous ideas about what a young copper could learn from basic duties. Maybe for Morse the Yard was the right place? They wouldn’t waste him on busy work at least. And they’d be lining up now, wouldn’t they? To take him on, to guide that brilliant mind in the direction it needed to go.

But not like he would, Thursday thought resentfully. Those ambitious sods would only see Morse as a means to an end, they’d use him up and spit him out, and never see what Fred saw in him. The hunger, the need, the bright spirit tucked deep behind those big, pretty blue eyes. 

“But,” Morse was saying curiously. “What would you teach me at the Yard that you can’t here? And you wouldn’t want to move again, would you? With Joan and Sam settled, and Mrs Thursday with all her friends?”

That cold spot inside Fred’s chest vanished as he realised that no, Morse didn’t understand. Morse thought they meant the Yard wanted them both, not just the newest rising star. That flood of relief made him a little more careless than he normally would have been.

“They didn’t mean us, Morse,” he said bluntly. “They only want you.”

And instantly regretted that bluntness as all the colour leeched from the young man’s face, so rapidly that Thursday half stood, as if to stop him falling from his chair.

“But they can’t,” Morse said desperately, his voice cracking on the last word. “They can’t, we signed the forms, I signed, you said…” he stopped abruptly as if the words had been frozen in his throat and he just stared at Thursday, face white and stricken.

Fred followed his instincts and stood, hustling Morse from the hard wooden chair and pushing him onto the booth seat, sliding in after him and turning to face the lad, his wide shoulders blocking him from the view of the patrons who’d lifted their heads at the raised voice.

“Morse,” he said, catching thin fluttering hands in his own and squeezing them. Morse’s eyes were wide and now his breath sawed in and out of his lungs as if he’d been running. “Look at me, Morse, look at me. Endeavour!” He said sharply, and Morse caught his breath and blinked, his clouded eyes clearing.

“Sir?”

“Listen to me, Morse, all right?” Thursday said, still holding the lad’s hands, feeling them icy cold in his grip. “No one is taking you away from me. You hear me? No one.”

Morse swallowed. “Sir,” he said again, hoarsely.

“They can’t, and I wouldn’t let them if they tried. See?” Thursday lowered his voice, feeling the warmth come back into Morse’s hands, seeing the colour seep back into his cheeks. “You’re my lad, signed, sealed and delivered, and you’ll be my lad until the day I retire, or until they promote you.”

“When do you retire?” Morse said, his voice still a little hoarse, as if he’d been screaming instead of just breathing hard.

“Oh, ten years maybe,” Thursday said, trying for a lighter tone. “If I don’t kick off before then.” 

“Don’t,” Morse instructed, and then his stiff shoulders relaxed and his hands squeezed Thursday’s where they were still being held by both his. “Sorry, sir,” he said, casting his eyes down. “I over reacted. For a moment I thought…”

For a moment you thought I was like everyone else in your life, Fred thought grimly. That I could just turn my back on you and walk away, like you were nothing. Never, my lad. Never in life.

“The rules are as old as English coppering,” Thursday said, feeling his heart settle back into his chest. “We’re paired until one of us decides otherwise, and that won’t be me, understood?”

“Not even if I…”

He cut Morse’s mutter off firmly. “Not for anything. If you muck up – or I do – we’ll fix it and move on. I’d no sooner walk away from you than I would my Win, or my kids, see?”

“Yes, sir,” Morse said, and he gently extricated his hands and reached for his beer, thin fingers trembling. “I do know. I just… forgot for a moment, that’s all.”

“Maybe I better remind you,” Thursday said, and he curled his broad palm around Morse’s thigh, fingers just brushing the seam of the young man’s trousers.

Morse gazed at him, eyes darkening. Dark blue forget-me-nots, still blurred by a sheen of tears.

“Yes, please.” 

888

Thursday drove the short distance, one hand still shaping Morse’s lean thigh when he didn’t need them both for driving. Morse’s hand covered his own and squeezed.

“Sir?” he asked quietly. “They can’t make things hard for you, can they? If I don’t accept a transfer?”

“Not legally,” Thursday said. He wouldn’t lie to the lad, and the internal politics of policing were just one more lesson Morse needed to learn after all. “They might try a few dodges, but I don’t think Chief Superintendent Bright would let it go too far.”

“Bright? I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“That’s Mr Bright to you, Morse, and I’m sure he’s always treated you with complete professionalism,” Thursday said firmly. It wouldn’t do for a senior officer to criticise another senior officer to their junior.

“Yes, sir,” Morse said.

“He’s a by-the-book officer, lad. He knows our position and he knows – I let him know quite firmly – you’re not leaving my side.”

Morse’s hand squeezed his, but he turned his head away and looked out the window rather than meet Thursday’s eyes as they pulled up outside his flat. 

“I think,” Thursday said thoughtfully. “That he would have been quite disappointed in me if I’d given him any other answer.”

“Oh,” said Morse, still looking away. 

888

Morse unlocked the door and preceded his governor into the dark flat, but before he could even switch on the lamp, Thursday was swinging him around and pressing him against the door. Thursday felt the latch click behind him as he pressed his lad back and kissed him. 

He could feel Morse’s surprise as the passionate kiss went on and on, even as he eagerly responded, twisting his head and parting his lips to accept Thursday’s seeking tongue. Their encounters had so far followed the pattern of the first; after a case, in Thursday’s office, Morse leaning over the desk, or last time with Thursday sitting in his chair and Morse being pulled down on his governor’s cock.

Kisses usually came after though, soft and sweet, while Morse trembled from the aftershocks of his orgasm, and Thursday pulled out his big hanky and cleaned them both off.

But now Thursday was starting with kisses and Morse didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, they fluttered from Thursday’s waist to his shoulders and back again.

“Undress,” Thursday growled, and now Morse seemed on steadier ground, as he reached for his belt buckle and toed off his shoes. “All of it,” Thursday ordered, and Morse froze, blinking at him in the dim light.

“Sir?”

“Do I have to tell you twice?” Thursday said, shrugging off his coat and starting to tug at his tie. 

It seemed he might have to do just that as Morse watched, open mouthed and still frozen as Thursday started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a snowy white vest and his own belt and zipper, swiftly dealt with.

“Unless you think I can fuck you through your clothes, Morse?” Thursday said, pulling down his trousers and revealing his cock, thick and hard and wet at the tip. It bobbed under Morse’s astonished gaze, but the young man finally realised that he was standing there fully clothed while his governor was naked but for a pair of socks and suspenders.

“Lord,” Morse muttered, turning around and swiftly divesting himself of his clothes. He made to kneel on the bed, arse up in the usual fashion, but Thursday forestalled him, spun him around gently and pushed him back against the covers.

“This way I think, tonight,” Thursday said. “Since we have one bed, for the use of. Eh?”

Morse lay back, lean and smooth and pale against the dark coverlet, his thighs spread slightly apart, his long, flushed cock half hard in its nest of ruddy pubic hair.

“God you’re beautiful,” Thursday whispered, and Morse blushed pink from his belly to his cheeks. 

“Sir,” he protested. “I’m.. I am not. Men aren’t beautiful.”

“Shows what you know,” Thursday chuckled, and then he was beside his lad on the bed, leaning over and stroking tumbled curls back from his pale brow. Morse stared up at him, eyes wide, tongue moistening lips still flushed from his governor’s kisses. 

Thursday pressed a gentle kiss to one corner of Morse’s soft, pink lips, then to the other, his own tongue darting out and tasting. Morse parted his lips, eye lids half closing, and helpless to resist, Thursday bent and took his mouth again, kissing him deeply, tasting him, stroking his tongue against Morse’s more timid one.

This time Morse had no trouble figuring out what to do with his hands, he wrapped them around his governor’s ribcage, lean fingers digging in.

Thursday hadn’t intended to be here tonight, hadn’t intended to bring Morse quite so far, quite so fast. But events had preceded them today, Morse was now officially his sergeant, he was now officially being Noticed. And Thursday felt the need to stamp his ownership on his lad as deeply and indelibly as he could.

This time was no quick fuck to ease the strain, to pleasure himself and Morse or accustom him to his place in Thursday’s life. This time was so that Morse would never doubt again, not for an instant, that he was wanted and valued by the man who had claimed him.

Scattered kisses then, over high cheek bones, tasting that slight, pink flush. Down to the curve of his neck, over the freckles on his shoulder, almost invisible now after a long winter, sure to show up again if Morse could be persuaded to take off his shirt at the beach or the swimming baths, come summer. Morse tilted his head back, sighing softly as Thursday blessed each faded freckle with a kiss.

Down his chest to soft, flat nipples, garnering a squirm and a surprised grunt as Thursday first kissed, then lightly sucked each pale pink disk into his mouth.

“Do you like that?” Thursday asked gruffly.

“I don’t know,” Morse said, hands clenching on his governor’s shoulders. “No one’s ever…”

“Well let me know if I do something you don’t like, eh?” Thursday said, leaning up for another quick kiss.

“I like that,” Morse assured him. 

“Just as well.” Thursday stole another and returned to his exploration, over ribs a bit too exposed for his liking. “Need feeding up, my lad,” he muttered against sharp hip bones, and Morse squirmed again, huffing a laugh at the breath against his skin.

“Ticklish?” Thursday wondered.

“Apparently,” Morse said dryly, then bit off a shriek of laughter as Thursday blew a raspberry on his belly button.

“No tickling!” Morse panted.

“No?” Thursday cocked his head, eyes twinkling. “What about more kisses then, eh?” He dropped a kiss just below Morse’s navel, then another an inch or so down.

Morse stilled, the smile on his face turning to surprised wonder.

“Sir?” He whispered.

“Here?” Thursday dropped another kiss, lower still, then watched with pleasure as Morse’s half hard cock took on a life of its own, filling and nodding under Thursday’s heavy lidded regard. “Men aren’t beautiful?” Thursday whispered. “Can you see yourself, Morse? Can you see how beautiful you are? How much I want you?”

My god, Thursday thought. Those eyes, those eyes will be the death of me. There was that hunger Win had seen, the hunger shining in that wide, luminous gaze. And now there was a kind of dawning hope too, as if something he’d long given up believing he would be offered was now in front of him.

“Yes,” Morse whispered back. “I see.”

Thursday reached out and wrapped a hand around that pink, pretty stem, automatically pumping gently up and down the shaft. Unblinking, Morse’s eyes followed the movement of that hand and then lifted to meet Thursday’s again, hunger and need and a wordless question in them.

“Yes,” Thursday said now, and he leaned over and swallowed Morse to the root, one long, slurping suck, relaxing his throat muscles as he hadn’t done in 25 years or more. A skill once learned, never forgotten it seemed.

“Sir!” Morse cried, hands clenching in Thursday’s hair as his governor bobbed up and down, pulling back and nursing tenderly on the head before taking him deep again. “Sir, please, sir please sir please.”

A litany in a low, broken voice, hips lifting, thighs wrapping around Thursday’s shoulders, impossibly young and limber, curling around Thursday as he bobbed his head up and down, suckling Morse to the root and then pulling back to lave gentle kisses on the leaking slit.

“Sir, I’m going to, sir, oh sir,” Morse babbled.

But Thursday ignored the tugging on his hair, pressing one hand on Morse’s belly and cradling his tight balls gently in the other. Then Morse was coming, heaving, the salt taste sweet as honey on the back of Thursday’s throat as he swallowed him down, tongue gently milking the last few drops, hand slowly pumping the base of the shaft as Morse shuddered a final time.

Thursday reared back, rolled Morse over, spat half the lad’s load onto his arsehole, already damp with sweat, and with a thrust pushed his desperately hard cock hip deep into Morse’s tightness.

Morse clutched at the pillows, but he didn’t cry out, even though Thursday hadn’t opened him up first, and even though the poor lubrication must sting.  
Instead Morse lifted his arse, tilting his hips so Thursday could pump deeper, grasping at the coverlet and burying his head into its folds as Thursday pumped once, twice, three times more, then emptied himself inside Morse.

Exhausted, sated, every bone in his body humming, Thursday collapsed onto the bed beside him, with just enough energy to curve Morse’s body close against his own.

“All right, Morse?” he said gruffly.

His answer was Morse’s arm crossing his chest and pulling in tight.

“Yes, sir,” Morse hummed against his skin.

“I was a bit rough there, at the end.” 

“Were you?” Morse wondered, and then yawned, snuggling his tousled head under his governor’s chin. 

888

Long minutes later Morse stirred against Thursday’s shoulder. “I feel like a fool,” he muttered. 

“Why?” Thursday smoothed his hand down Morse’s arm tenderly.

“Over reacted, didn’t I?” Morse said, voice still low. “Acted like a child back at the pub.”

“You were upset,” Thursday pointed out. “You’ve a right to be.”

“I’m a grown man, I’ve no right to practically burst into tears over nothing.”

“Nothing?” Thursday leaned back, rounding one hand against Morse’s shoulder and pushing him back so he could meet those expressive eyes. Now they were clouded, Morse’s face a picture of chagrin. “See here, Morse, do you take it seriously? Being my bagman? Pairing with me?”

Taken aback, Morse gaped. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Of course I do. You know I do.”

“Well then,” Thursday said. “Why shouldn’t you be upset at the idea that all that might be broken? That we be split apart? I can’t say I’d like it very much if you just shrugged it off like we mean nothing.”

“I wouldn’t,” Morse said forcefully. “I couldn’t. I didn’t know how much it would mean, could mean until you… you…”

“Made you mine?”

“Asked me to be yours,” Morse corrected. “No one ever wanted me before, not really.”

“Well then.” Thursday smoothed his hand over the freckled shoulder. “I told you before, remember? A man can shed some of his load with his governor when he needs to, or vice versa. Never be afraid to show what you feel to me.”  
He settled Morse’s tousled head back against him, prepared to enjoy a few more minutes holding his lad close.

“Sir?”

Thursday suppressed a sigh. No rest for the wicked, he thought.

“Hmm?”

“Why haven’t you ever, you know. Taken another junior. A pairing, I mean.”

“What you mean,” Thursday teased. “Is why you?”

Morse leaned back and gazed at him, eyes luminous. “Why me?”

Thursday gave it some thought, wanting, as always, to be truthful to Morse. “Never wanted anyone else, before you,” he said. “Simple as that.”

“Oh.” 

“I know it’s probably an impossible ask, but could you not overthink it? Sometimes a fellow just knows. I knew you were special the minute I saw you. That you could be an important part of my life.”

“And I am.” Morse said, not quite a question.

Thursday answered him anyway, with a soft, lingering kiss. “And you are.”

“Oh,” Morse said again, and this time he snuggled his head under his governor’s chin, and let him have his five minutes of peace.


End file.
